


An Irrationally Strong Bond Between Two People

by jishler



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst with a Happy Ending, Finger Sucking, First Kiss, First Time, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Fugitives, Innocent Harry, Innocent Louis Tomlinson, Late-Stage Capitalism, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, The Yorkshire Moors, and how could I forget, because no one knows anything about love and sex!, first orgasms :o !!!, fuck the police all my homies hate the police, have to get some accidentally erotic finger sucking in there, we are OUT HERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29324505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jishler/pseuds/jishler
Summary: Before The Advancement, most human lives and careers were plagued by irrationality and a lack of productivity. This was largely the symptom of what scientists refer to as “interpersonal passion,” which included two separate (though often conjointly occurring) phenomena: “love,” and “sex.” “Love” was a pre-Advancement word which referred to an irrationally strong bond between two people, which caused its sufferers to prioritise their fellow “lover,” as well as the integrity of the malignant bond itself, over vital things such as workplace productivity. Taken every two weeks in pill form, The Drug immediately removes interpersonal passion from the human psyche. Children’s friendships do not have the capacity to develop into full-fledged “love” since they are not yet adults. Every person over eighteen takes The Drug gladly, grateful that it allows them to be productive, clear-headed, and rational members of society.A few weeks before Louis’ eighteenth birthday, Harry and Louis fall in love.(Based on the book Louis writes in indiaalphawhiskey's Our Lives, Non-Fiction.)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 39
Kudos: 132





	1. I'll Come With You

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven’t read [Our Lives, Non-Fiction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27884215/chapters/68276938) yet, I highly recommend that you do. That said, this fic does not contain any spoilers for the plot of OL,NF, and you don’t need to read OL,NF to understand this fic. but you _should_ read it ;)
> 
> I am greatly indebted to Emma [sashinalash](https://sashinalash.tumblr.com/) for her kindness, patience, and constructiveness as a beta/britpicker. thank you for letting me keep french fry 🥰💛🍟  
> And, of course, I am eternally grateful to [India](https://indiaalphawhiskey.tumblr.com/)!!! Thank you for letting me run with your idea. This concept is all yours — I just wrote it out. ✨💙✨
> 
> The main story is contained in the first two chapters; the third is just a short coda. 
> 
> This story begins in about 500 years in the future, in the year 2531. However, this universe is at a ~1980’s level of technology.

They were in Harry’s bed, again. Louis was leaning against the footboard and Harry was at the head, both of their legs stretched out and intertwined where they overlapped. Harry’s eyes were shining as he reenacted the presentation he’d given in school today about pre-Advancement conceptions of human psychology. Louis was rapt. 

When Louis had come up to Harry’s room that afternoon, Harry had shut the door behind them. That action had made Louis' stomach twist up in knots and sweat prick at his armpits. Harry never used to close the door. 

***

Three days ago, Louis had woken up sweating in his sheets. Vivid images were burned into his mind from the dream he’d startled himself out of: Images of his best mate, different from how he’d ever seen him. Images of Harry’s mouth, laughing, Harry’s mouth, shiny with spit, the curve on Harry’s sides where the pinch of his waist turned into the skin that spilled over the top of his pants, Harry’s body, moving; a strange and intoxicating pleasure at Louis' core. 

Reeling, Louis had stumbled out of bed through the darkness and into the shower. He washed away the sweat and, as he always did, gingerly made the hardness between his legs go away with cool water. Still half-sure he was dreaming, Louis went back to bed.

He had thought he’d banished the confusing dream from his memory until he saw Harry show up at his door the next day. Suddenly, those images were back behind his eyelids, even more vivid with real-life Harry standing in front of him. Feeling oddly out of control of his body, Louis had stood there and dumbly reached out to brush Harry’s cheek with his hand. 

Since that afternoon, Louis had found himself accidentally obsessed. He was addicted to the softness he found under his fingertips when he touched Harry, and to the way pinkness seemed to bloom under Harry’s skin in the wake of his fingers. He’d seen people flushed from sports, or when someone got asked a question they didn’t know the answer to in school. But never like this.

Confused because he’d never heard of such obsession or pinkness-from-touching, Louis described his and Harry’s symptoms to his mother — she was a nurse, after all. She explained: Don’t act on the obsession, go back to how he used to interact with Harry, and don’t worry because the symptoms would clear up in a few weeks, once Louis took The Drug for the first time. 

Louis went over to Harry’s house the next day after school as he usually did, feeling much better and ready to enact his mother’s advice. Harry, though, had smiled softly when he’d answered the door, pulled Louis upstairs into his room, delicately pressed his face into Louis' neck, and wrapped his body around Louis'. Waves of comfort and safety and a strange _want_ had washed over him, and it was in that moment that Louis first started to question his mother’s advice. 

Louis _wanted_ to keep acting on this; Louis didn’t _want_ The Drug to take away the exhilarating feeling of Harry’s body pressed close to his. He had no other words to express it, besides that he _wanted_ everything about Harry, Harry seemed to want him in the same way, and those twin facts made him shiver all over. 

***

Harry finished his explanation of pre-Advancement conceptions of human psychology, and even genuinely interested as he was, eventually Louis ran out of follow-up questions to ask. They both felt the tension enter the room; could feel it where their ankles touched as they settled into silence. Neither one of them was brave enough to make a move until Louis, finally, found a flimsy excuse. 

“Harry,” he said. 

Harry’s eyes met his own, but Louis still noticed how the colour immediately began creeping into Harry’s cheeks. That was a new one; usually Louis had to be closer to make that happen. It delighted Louis, though: the pinkness appearing now meant that they were thinking about the same thing. 

“Your shirt collar’s messed up.” 

Harry made no move to fix it. Instead, he waited as Louis swallowed and moved up the bed until he was kneeling next to Harry. Louis could hear Harry’s breathing, faster than normal, as he reached up to Harry’s neck and fixed where the collar was wrongly folded on one side. Fingers shaking a little. 

Louis knew that Harry knew that Louis was just looking for an excuse to start touching him. They both wanted to, but what else was he to do? How do you say to your best mate, _I want to touch you, I like it when I make your face red; I want so much from you but I don’t even know what I want?_

“You can — ” whispered Harry, because now they were so close. Louis' hand was still on Harry’s collar. The air between them felt like a thunderstorm on a summer day. “You can keep, um, your fingers —” So many of their sentences sounded like that these days — neither of them had words to describe this new set of wants.

“Yeah,” breathed Louis as he took the permission to finally touch the smooth skin of Harry’s neck; cradle Harry’s face in his hands. Now that he was touching Harry, the ache in his chest to be closer only grew. On impulse, Louis shifted on the bed so he was sitting on Harry’s lap, straddling him, instead of sitting beside him. Harry gasped a little bit. Cautiously, Harry’s hands danced up Louis' sides. 

“Louis,” said Harry. Louis was transfixed by Harry’s face, the way Harry himself seemed to be transfixed by the sight of his own hands on Louis' torso. He felt a shiver run through him, which felt confusingly connected to hearing his name from Harry’s mouth. Harry had been saying his name for years; why did it make him shiver now? Louis didn’t know; he was too distracted by the way Harry’s tongue darted out over his lips, leaving a shiny trail in its wake. 

“Harry,” Louis parroted back, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say. _Harry_ made up the majority of his internal monologue right now, anyway; _Harry_ and _mouth_ and _want_. Curious, Louis brushed his thumb over the shine on Harry’s lips. 

Harry gasped again at that, startled enough to look Louis in the eye again. “Oh,” he said, and Louis was obsessed with the way he could feel Harry form the word under his fingers. 

“What?” asked Louis, running the knuckle of his thumb gently over Harry’s lip again. It caught a little this time, stretching with his thumb before sliding back into place. 

“Sensitive,” whispered Harry. Louis could feel each puff of air. 

“Yeah?” Louis' fingers danced across Harry’s lips again, this time moving but not stopping, fascinated by how soft they were. 

“Unh—” Harry made a strange little sound, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he opened them again. “Feels good.”

Louis moved his hand to his own lips instead. The light touch almost made him jump — they were sensitive, just like Harry said. Then he shifted his hand back to Harry’s mouth, excited about this new thing they’d discovered; another thing they could do with each other and nobody else. This time Harry’s lips were parted more, and Louis couldn’t help but — God, what if he — Louis gently pushed his thumb past Harry’s lips and into his mouth, and felt his stomach drop. 

Harry’s eyes were wide and his cheeks flushed as ever as he stared back at Louis, breath puffing hard through his nose onto Louis' hand. Louis felt a little insane, like somehow his entire world was shifting from the heat of Harry’s mouth around his thumb.

“Harry,” Louis whispered, and Harry made a sound that made Louis' stomach drop all over again. Overwhelmed, Louis pulled his thumb back out and slowly wiped it on his shirt. 

They stared at each other, drunk on this tantalizing feeling that was only growing and growing. Louis had no idea what they were doing, but he didn’t want to stop. “I wonder...” started Harry, and Louis felt a hand move from his waist to the back of his neck. Harry’s gaze was flicking between Louis' mouth and his eyes, curious. 

“What,” whispered Louis. 

“What if we...” Harry pulled Louis in closer, until they could barely focus their eyes anymore. “Touched... mouths...” Harry leaned up to close the last of the distance between them, and they both giggled as they bumped noses. Louis tilted his head slightly, and their lips brushed. 

The feeling was nice but so very foreign, and they sprang back the second it happened. It was all over when they made eye contact again; suddenly their nervousness bubbled to the surface and Louis and Harry collapsed into laughter, clutching one another. 

“What —” wheezed Harry, “what are we _doing?_ ”

This sent Louis into another wave of hysteria. What the _hell_ was possessing them? Eventually, Louis caught enough breath to reply, “I don’t know.”

Their laughter tapered off into occasional snorts and giggles, and finally Louis could look Harry in the eye again without losing it. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “But it’s... it’s good, right.” He accidentally said it as a statement. 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, regardless. “Yeah, I want, um — do you want to —”

“— try it again,” said Louis. 

“Yeah.” 

Harry let out one last giggle as they leaned in again, this time remembering to tilt their heads. They let their lips linger for longer this time, and it wasn’t much; it was barely anything, but it sent a bolt of energy through Louis' entire body. They pulled back, forehead to forehead. “Again,” whispered Harry. 

This time Louis moved his lips to fit better onto Harry’s, and Harry moved as well, and then his eyes were closed because Louis' entire existence was suddenly reduced to the singular sensation of Harry’s lips sliding against his. Unbidden, he felt a high noise come from his throat. He’d never felt anything like this and he never wanted to feel anything else. 

They pulled back for a second to breathe. “Again,” said Harry. Again. Louis could feel Harry’s breath on his lips. 

Again. Again. Louis lost track of time, space, anything that wasn’t connected to Harry’s mouth, Harry’s sighs, or Harry’s hands pulling him closer. At some point Louis' mouth slipped open, and Harry’s tongue — oh god, his _tongue?_ licked curiously forward. Louis pushed Harry back against the headboard and when Harry whined in response, Louis thought, absurdly, of flowers blooming in spring. 

From then on it was wet and messy and sometimes teeth got involved — teeth were not good for this, they learned quickly — but Louis' whole body felt like it was on fire, and the only places that were calm were where Harry touched him. Louis was vaguely aware of long swaths of time passing, if only by the way Harry shifted under him periodically to get more comfortable, or the way they only seemed to get better and better at this as the afternoon wore on.

Louis felt his lips getting sore, and finally the pain outweighed the heady pleasure so much that he reluctantly pulled back. He panicked for a moment, disoriented, when he opened his eyes and still couldn’t see — but then realised that Harry was still staring up at him, and it was dark in the room because dusk had fallen outside. “Oh,” said Louis, stupidly, and found that his voice was scratchy from disuse. Harry’s eyes looked shiny in the dim light, and Louis felt like crying too, completely overwhelmed with everything about the boy in front of him. 

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling him down on the bed so they could lie down together with limbs intertwined. He found thoughts in his brain he’d never had before, like _I want to keep you safe_ and _I want to touch mouths with you every day forever_ and _you’re my best mate in the whole world_. 

Louis didn’t say any of it, though; just pulled Harry in to brush their lips together one last time before tucking Harry into his chest. Harry’s arms were just as tight around Louis. 

“I,” started Harry. “I —” it was like he knew what he wanted to say, but couldn’t remember the right word. “Louis,” he said instead. “You’re so important to me.” 

Tears pricked at Louis' eyes again. “Me too,” whispered Louis into the half-light. “You’re so important to me, too.” The words were true but felt so tiny compared to the emotions running through him. He opened his mouth to correct it, search for some better words, but before he could say anything there was a knock at the door. 

“Harry?” called Harry’s mum. They gasped and sprang apart, quickly arranging themselves the way they’d started the afternoon with Louis at the end of the bed. Light from the hall spilled into the room as she pushed the door open, and Louis tried not to look suspicious. 

“Oh hi, Louis... what are you two doing in the dark?” 

“Um,” said Louis and Harry at the same time. 

They made panicked eye contact before Harry blurted out, “uh, pre-Advancement conceptions of human psychology.” 

“In the dark?” asked Harry’s mum. 

“Yeah, um —” said Louis.

Harry cut in again. “Up until two hundred years ago, before The Advancement, people were pretty stupid because they knew all this stuff about psychology but didn’t actually put it into practice until The Advancement. So we turned the lights off to, you know, symbolise how _in the dark_ they were.” He could see how pleased Harry was with his pun. Louis rolled his eyes, but failed to suppress his giggle. 

“I see,” said Harry’s mum, bemused. “Either way, it’s time for dinner... Louis, are you staying?” 

Reality was trickling back in, and actually — ah, shit. “No, actually, but thank you,” said Louis, climbing off the bed and straightening his clothes. He could feel Harry’s presence behind him; wanted his closeness again. “I said I would be there to help with my sisters at home tonight.” Louis made his exit as politely as he could, shooting one last longing glance at Harry and valiantly ignoring the way every step he took was a step further from Harry’s bright eyes and soft mouth. _Act normal, act normal, act normal,_ he chanted to himself. “Bye, uh, Harry,” he said. Louis pulled his shoes on and flung himself out the door. 

***

That night, Louis couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t get Harry out of his head; couldn’t escape the ghost of Harry’s mouth on his. The tantalizing feeling he recognised from earlier was back, and this time he realised that it must be connected to the way his cock hung heavy and hard between his legs. He couldn’t get it to soften. He’d probably been hard like this earlier, he realised, when he and Harry had been pressed so close together. 

The whole thing was mortifying. Everybody knew from health class that it was natural; it just happened sometimes, but you were supposed to keep it private. Don’t touch it, and put cold water on it to make it go away. Maybe Harry had noticed, but been too polite to say anything. But the hardness was connected to the heady feeling and it seemed like Harry was _also_ feeling the heady feeling, so had Harry been hard too? Louis groaned, twisting in his sheets, not understanding why the idea made his mind even foggier. 

But every time Louis tossed and turned a bolt of pleasure shot through him, and he was far beyond ignoring the fact that it happened consistently each time something touched his cock. One wasn't supposed to touch one’s cock beyond the absolutely necessary. It was dirty. He _knew_. He never did. But he’d passed most of the night without sleep and his inhibitions were lowered by exhaustion. Louis' hand crept down his body and into the front of his pants. 

The direct contact was shocking, and Louis gasped out loud. Heart thundering, he shakily turned his face into his duvet and started to move his fingers around, seeking out pleasure. He found it everywhere. 

There was a warm, sticky substance at the head so he wiped his fingers off on his pants. But there kept being more and more of it as he explored the velvety skin, and actually, maybe the feeling was even better when he let the liquid build up and coat his hand, reducing friction. He tugged on his foreskin and eventually found a rhythm, a way to wrap his hand around the shaft and slide it up and down that sent him keening into the duvet. There was a feeling building in his core that he found himself chasing, desperately pulling at himself faster and faster as he ascended into ecstasy. 

But Louis' rational mind was still present, and he knew that all this tension must be building towards a release. Of what kind, he didn’t know, and the prospect scared him enough to wrench his hand away. _Fuck,_ it had felt so good, and he was lost without the pleasure. He kicked his blankets off, suddenly entirely too hot for anything but the air. There must be a reason why this was discouraged. What if something terrible or painful happened? What if you _die_??? 

But then Louis' hips pushed up again on their own accord, and the shifting material of his pants against his cock was too much to resist. Tentatively, he reached a hand back down and began to fist his cock again, eyes rolling back with the feeling. He’d stop again before the release, he bargained with himself. But it felt like he was on fire, in the best way, and it was only moments before he was wound tight again. He ached to keep going, but forced his hand away. 

Panting, Louis did his best to calm himself down. He needed to stop, right now.

He forced him to think about other things than the burning need between his legs, like the crack in the ceiling of his bedroom, or his school assignments, or random people at school, or — _Harry_. 

Louis froze. His blinding desire for Harry’s lips; his proximity; suddenly overlapped with his current desperation and his hand was on his cock again before he could stop it. He tossed his head from side to side on his pillow, trying to find an outlet for the feeling. It had _already_ felt like more than his body could take, but now the overwhelming pleasure was only augmented by images of Harry behind his eyelids. 

Harry’s mouth, shiny and swollen, the way it looked this afternoon. Harry’s bare torso when they went swimming in the summer. Louis' thumb in Harry’s mouth. Harry’s little whimpers. Harry’s pink cheeks and shining eyes. Harry’s cock, oh god, he’d only seen it a handful of times, soft of course, but what would it look like _hard_ — 

And then, Louis realised faintly, it was too late. He’d reached the precipice of whatever it was, his hand was flying over his cock, and he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, was suddenly jerking and shuddering as waves of a bliss he’d never known surged through his body. 

He blinked his eyes open, not having registered closing them. Louis took stock of his body: He was still alive, he was pretty sure. His chest was still heaving, but slowing down. His hand was still wrapped around his cock and he snatched it away, hot shame flooding through him. 

There were strings of sticky stuff — more of what he’d discovered earlier, probably — painted up his stomach. Louis felt dirty, guilty, disgusting. He blinked tears from his eyes as he hurriedly fumbled for something to clean up; something disposable, to better hide the evidence. He shoved off his now-soiled pants, replaced them with clean ones, and dug the dirty tissue deep into his wastebasket. Then he snuck across the hall to the bathroom to wash his hands. 

Louis caught sight of the high flush on his cheeks in the mirror — just like Harry’s, his brain supplied unhelpfully — and ducked his eyes away. Mechanically, he turned on the tap. Wishing the scalding water could burn off his shame, Louis started on the most thorough hand-washing job of his life. What he felt guiltiest about, he realised as he reached for the soap for the second time, were those last depraved moments in which he’d imagined Harry; Harry’s body, so carnally. Sweet Harry, pure Harry. Harry, who would never be associated with something so vulgar as what Louis had done. 

Louis dried his hands and got back in bed, closed his eyes, and forced himself to sleep. 

***

The next day was Friday, and Louis didn’t go to Harry’s house after school. His weekend plans to stew alone in shame and misery, though, were thwarted the moment he got home: After years of friendship between their children, Harry and Louis' parents had gotten close as well. Their families often had dinner together, and tonight, as Louis' mum informed him, was one of those nights. Louis had no choice but to come along.

He stayed quiet for most of dinner, simultaneously trying to manage the sometimes concerned, sometimes hurt glances Harry was sending him from across the table with the fact that even though he was drowning in guilt, he _still_ got breathless when Harry looked his way. Louis was so distracted by his internal turmoil that he hardly noticed dinner wrapping up and his family getting ready to leave, before Harry’s mum spoke to him. 

“Are you staying the night, Louis?” Harry materialised beside her, his brow furrowed. Louis ached to soothe him; hated that his own shame was the indirect cause of Harry’s distress. 

“Oh, um —” Louis didn’t know how to decline without seeming suspicious to their families. Louis _always_ stayed over; sometimes even begged to during the school week. And Harry’s gaze on him was so fragile, confused at Louis' sudden coldness, but still with a hint of hope. Louis couldn’t — he owed it to Harry to explain, at least. 

“Yeah, please. Of course.”

Louis tried to disappear by starting the washing up, but Harry’s mum spoke again. “Harry so likes having you here... It’s good for you two to be able to spend time together. Your birthday’s so soon, Louis.”

“Yeah,” said Louis faintly. “It’ll be, uh, a big change, I guess.” He forced himself not to look at Harry when he spoke, addressing the plate in his hand instead. Louis wanted to cry when he thought about losing the closeness he had with Harry. Even before everything changed between them, and even though he was two years younger than Louis, Harry had always been the most important person in his life. He’d seen the way people fell away from their friends once they turned eighteen; the way they still hung out and laughed and had things in common, but all of the warmth was gone.

Harry wasn’t just warm. He was scorching; the hot-burning fire that warms you to your core and softens the harshest winter days. Louis was terrified to lose him. At least, he thought bitterly, The Drug would free him of bad and dirty things, like what he’d stumbled into last night. 

Harry’s parents went to their rooms for the night. Entirely before he was ready, Louis was left in the kitchen with Harry. He couldn’t think of a word to say, but Harry spoke first.

“Let’s go upstairs.” A neutral statement, a neutral tone. Louis felt anything but neutral as he followed Harry up to his room. Heart pounding, he shut the door. Harry stood in the middle of the room, illuminated only by the glow of his desk lamp. Louis saw little but hurt and anxiety in his face as he opened his mouth to speak again.

“You didn’t come over today.” 

That fact in itself was nothing extraordinary — there were some days when Louis came over, and some when he didn’t. But Louis _knew_ that Harry had clocked his shift in demeanour the second Louis walked in with his family, and Harry would be foolish not to connect the two things. 

“Harry, I —” There were so many feelings swirling inside him, but right now the most potent one was anguish at having caused Harry harm; a need to make things right. “Harry, I’m sorry,” he started, because he figured that was a good place to start. 

Harry stayed silent. “I felt guilty,” blurted Louis. “Feel. I feel guilty.” 

“For what we did yesterday?” 

“No,” said Louis. Reflexively, he brought his own hand to his lips. He didn’t regret that. “I, um, I’m sorry,” he said again, uselessly. How could he explain this to Harry without Harry becoming utterly revolted? He longed, more than anything, to press their bodies together. Louis gave up, his need for closeness with Harry overriding everything that’d been gnawing at him all day. 

“I’m sorry I was being weird, I just, um, I didn’t sleep well and got kind of overwhelmed but it’s fine now,” he said. He allowed himself one step towards Harry. “I’m fine now, I promise, I’m sorry I didn’t come over and was acting weird at dinner.” Another step. “I don’t regret what we did yesterday, not at all.” Louis' limbs were vibrating with how much he wanted Harry; everything about him. “Please...” 

At that, Harry seemed to crumple as he took two swift steps forward to close the gap between them. Louis' arms were around him in an instant, melting with relief. “It’s fine,” whispered Harry. “Just don’t...” he trailed off and Louis felt a hand in his hair. “I don’t want to lose you.” 

“No,” breathed Louis in agreement. He could feel Harry’s heart beating against his chest, fast and anxious just like his own. They stayed there for a while, Louis acutely aware of the rise and fall of Harry’s stomach against his. Eventually, their heart rates slowed. 

Louis leaned back enough to see Harry’s face, and was awed by his soft features, which were tilted trustingly up towards Louis. Louis didn’t know what to do but repeat what they’d done yesterday, and press his lips to Harry’s. Harry sighed immediately and opened his mouth, and Louis could only push harder into him; pull him closer.

They fell into a dizzying rhythm. Louis discovered that he could earn little moans from Harry’s throat if he bit down on Harry’s lips, a discovery that he shamelessly exploited until Harry was shivering against him. Louis needed more stability, could barely stand up anymore, so he gently pushed Harry back towards his bed. “Lie down,” he said into Harry’s mouth. 

Harry arranged himself on his back and Louis climbed on top of him, kneeling to straddle Harry’s waist. “Louis,” Harry breathed as Louis leaned over him. Louis could feel the need radiating off him; could see himself reflected in Harry’s eyes. He leaned down to connect their mouths again, and god, somehow this was even better than yesterday. Now that they were horizontal Louis had even more leverage; could press their mouths together hard and feel Harry gasp in response. 

He got lost in Harry, mindlessly pursuing more, more, more. He ran the hand that wasn’t supporting his own body weight over Harry’s torso and found him wonderfully responsive; his sides, his chest, his soft stomach all pushed up into his hand, seeking more contact. The more Louis touched him the more Harry squirmed, panting deliciously into Louis' mouth. Louis wanted nothing but to make Harry squirm for the rest of his life, and he thought of nothing else as he continued to explore. His hand travelled low on Harry’s stomach, until a sudden jerk of Harry’s body made Louis' hand slip. Harry wrenched his mouth away from Louis', eyes wide and gasping. 

Scrambling to keep up, Louis froze and realised three things in quick succession. First, he’d inadvertently brushed his hand over Harry’s cock, which was, second, rock-solid and straining through Harry’s trousers. Third and worst of all, the same throbbing between his own legs from the night before was back, which meant that Louis was hard too. 

They stayed frozen there, staring at each other as Louis knelt on all fours above him. Louis could hear his own pulse in his ears. After an eternity, Harry spoke.

“Have you,” whispered Harry. Louis could see the fear in Harry’s face; knew it was mirrored in his own. “Louis, have you ever...” 

Before he could stop himself Louis nodded, the shame from last night somehow dwarfed by how enormous this moment felt with Harry. He watched Harry take in that information hungrily; seemed bolstered by Louis' admission. Harry spoke again. “One time I, uh. Got in the shower but before I turned on the water I —” Harry’s eyes flicked away, focusing instead on the ceiling over Louis' shoulder. His voice was barely there. “Touched...” 

“Yeah?” Louis shuddered, unspeakable images suddenly bursting behind his eyelids. 

“But then I stopped. Felt... guilty.” He glanced back at Louis and Louis felt paper-thin, like Harry could see right inside him. “So I turned on the cold water and made it go away.” 

_Harry_ had done what Louis did last night? Louis was overwhelmed; needed at least a week to process that information. But Harry was already speaking again.

“Have you...” started Harry. “What did you —”

“I did the same,” Louis found himself saying. Harry didn’t look revolted, just looked curious and _wanting_. Louis needed to share this with Harry; needed the way Harry’s fear seemed to ease with his every word. “But in my bed. I couldn’t sleep because it wouldn’t go away.” 

“Yeah,” breathed Harry. Because he knew. He _understood_ , he’d experienced the same thing, and Louis could feel his cock throb, _fuck_. 

“And so I... touched, and stopped,” said Louis. “But then I... couldn’t stop. It felt so good.” 

“What happened?” asked Harry breathlessly. As if he was imagining Louis last night, in his bed. 

“It... it got better and better, like something was building up, and then there was, like... relief. A release. It felt so good, I could barely breathe.” 

“And then what.” Harry’s chest was heaving, breath coming out hard. 

“There was, like, sticky stuff, that came out. It was gross. And then I felt —” Louis closed his eyes. If Harry hadn’t put it together yet, he would now. “Guilty.” 

“That was last night?” asked Harry. But Louis could tell he already knew. Harry’s hand was gripping his arm. 

“Yeah.” 

“Was it because of me?” 

Louis felt like the breath had been punched out of him. “Yes.” 

There was a beat of silence and then — “Please,” moaned Harry. His body started shifting again; shifting, twisting, needing. 

“What, Harry —” Louis would do anything. 

“Touch me,” he said. “Do it to me.” 

Louis' mouth dropped open, brain stuck somewhere between where Harry’s hips were rocking into the air, the flush on his cheeks, and _touch me_. 

“I —” started Louis. “Are you sure?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” breathed Harry, finally stilling his hips and looking back at Louis. Dead serious. 

And Louis just — he couldn’t say no. He scrambled off Harry’s body and onto the bed beside him, shakily reaching to unbutton Harry’s trousers. Now that he was looking he could see Harry’s cock in stark relief, long and thick in a way that Louis had never, ever thought about before but it was suddenly all he wanted. Between the two of them they got Harry out of his trousers, but Louis stopped before he reached for Harry’s pants. 

“I want —” he started, holding the hem of Harry’s t-shirt instead. “I want to... see you? Can I —” he pushed the shirt up Harry’s stomach, and Harry got the idea. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, hurriedly sitting up to swipe the shirt over his head. Louis pushed him gently back onto the pillow, desperately wanting to explore Harry’s milky skin with his hands (or, oh god, what if he used his _mouth?_ ), but he instead refocused on the task at hand, sticking his thumbs under the waistband of Harry’s pants. 

Louis hadn’t taken his pants off last night, but he just — “Can I take these off?” he whispered. There was a dark spot on the front of Harry’s pants where, Louis realised with a jolt, the same liquid he’d found on himself last night was surely accumulating. 

Everything that had been disgusting on himself was suddenly overwhelmingly appealing on Harry. It didn’t feel depraved or gross or shameful, just a bit dirty in a stomach-twisting, _good_ way. And completely, completely beautiful. 

Louis almost missed Harry’s breathy _yes_ over his internal monologue, but quickly brought himself to the present and tugged on Harry’s pants. Harry got the message and lifted his hips, and suddenly Louis was sliding the pants off Harry’s ankles and Harry’s cock was just _there_ , big and flushed and _hard_. 

He stared, shocked by the way his own body reacted so viscerally to Harry’s. Splayed out and needy, eyes wild but trusting. Louis groaned, moved to sit by Harry’s side, and hesitated. He wanted desperately to reach out and touch where Harry’s cock was standing up, straining over his stomach, but Louis knew it was a big step. Once he did, there’d be no turning back — 

“Louis,” said Harry plaintively. “Please.” 

Louis couldn’t deny him. He skimmed his fingers down the length of Harry’s cock and gasped when Harry’s entire body convulsed around his hand. “Harry,” he said, quickly wrapping his hand around the shaft. Harry whimpered and Louis wanted to comfort him, somehow; wanted Harry to know that Louis would see this through. Take care of him. 

Louis started to move his hand, and Harry seemed to settle down slightly into deep, shuddering breaths and bucks of his hips. Harry was longer than him, he noted, but about the same thickness if a little thinner. He couldn’t believe the softness of his skin; the way Harry’s body moved with him and begged for more. 

“Lou,” groaned Harry. Like he couldn’t even manage the second syllable. “Oh god, please, oh god —” 

With a start, Louis remembered that they were not alone in this house. Harry’s parents were just down the hall, and there was absolutely no way he could explain away the position they were in should they overhear Harry. 

“Harry,” Louis whispered. “Harry, be quiet. Your parents will hear.” 

“Ah, fuck,” said Harry, maybe in response to Louis swiping his finger experimentally over the head of Harry’s cock but maybe because he heard him. Either way Harry was quieter for the next minute, hips starting to push up rhythmically to meet Louis' hand. He was ethereal like this; more beautiful in his pleasure-agony than anything Louis had seen. He _wanted_ the slimy stuff that kept pushing out of Harry’s cock. He _wanted_ the way Harry’s mouth was hanging open like he couldn’t believe the feeling. 

“Louis,” Harry moaned suddenly, too loudly. “Louis, Louis, Louis —”

“Shh, Harry!” hissed Louis, reeling. But Harry didn’t stop, maybe couldn’t stop, and though he was desperate to hear Harry’s sounds, Louis still knew well enough to be terrified of the consequences of getting caught. Out of options, he took his hand off Harry’s cock and pinched his hip instead. 

“What —” slurred Harry, like his brain was still catching up with his body. His hips bucked up helplessly, seeking friction that was no longer there. 

“Shh,” said Louis again, gentler this time. “Your parents can’t hear.”

“Sorry,” said Harry needlessly. “Sorry, just — feels good, feels _so_ good, Lou.” 

So maybe Lou, instead of Louis, was a thing now. Louis liked it; made him feel warm and closer to Harry. No one else called him that. “I know,” said Louis, running his hand up and down Harry’s side. “I know.” Now that they’d stopped he realised how very overheated he was, so he didn’t think twice before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. When he looked back at Harry he found wide, hungry eyes boring into him, and Harry’s hands reaching up to pull him in. 

He went willingly and touched their mouths together, relishing the way it seemed to stabilise them. “Can you be quiet?” he asked into Harry’s mouth. 

“I’ll try,” said Harry, and Louis was only human so as Harry leaned up to connect their lips again, he reached down and resumed his rhythm on Harry’s cock. 

Everything was so much more intense now — it was a new level of intimacy, to have every reaction from Harry breathed into Louis' mouth. Harry got periodically distracted from where their lips were connected, mouth falling open and head lolling to the side when the pleasure was too much. Louis sped up his hand. Harry’s hips were rolling again; the rest of him squirming in pleasure. 

Harry’s little noises increased in desperation, and Louis could feel his body tensing, winding tighter and tighter. Louis sat up again to look at him, and somewhere in his movement Louis' clothed cock brushed against Harry’s hip. Heat exploded in his body and his grip on Harry faltered, his whole being rendered suddenly useless by the _need_ between his legs. 

“You can —” Harry started, having tracked Louis' momentary distraction with an awed expression on his face. But the only thing he wanted more than his own pleasure, he realised, was Harry’s. Louis composed himself enough to resume his pulls on Harry’s cock, and Harry’s hand shot out to grip Louis' arm. 

“It’s okay, I’ll — after,” explained Louis ineloquently. “Wanna take care of you first.” 

“Okay,” said Harry, and shut his eyes.

Louis tried to make it as good as he possibly could, studying Harry’s reactions and repeating the things that made him moan the most. A frenzied desperation began to take over Harry’s face and body. Louis _knew_ what he was feeling; knew the way Harry was feeling frantic and out of control. “Please,” Harry whispered. “Please, Lou, faster, please, _oh_ —”

“You’re okay,” Louis found himself placating, trying to work his wrist fast enough to meet Harry’s need. Harry whimpered and slapped his own hand over his mouth. “It’s alright, I know.” 

“Oh,” moaned Harry from behind his hand, eyes panicked. “ _Lou_ , fuck, soon, I don’t —” his body was thrashing, now, and Louis was losing his mind. 

“You’re okay,” said Louis again “You’re okay, you’re... god, Harry.” And with that Harry gasped once more and fell silent, ribbons shooting from his cock and onto his stomach as his body jerked. His hips were still moving so Louis kept his hand there, letting Harry push up into his fist as he started to come down. “Beautiful,” he murmured. Fascinating, also, and a bit weird. But beautiful and utterly addictive. 

Louis counted five breaths before Harry’s eyes blinked open, his cheeks and chest flushing a deep red that even Louis had never seen before. “Okay?” asked Louis. 

“Um,” said Harry, still breathing hard. Louis took his hand away, scared that Harry was feeling the same wave of shame and disgust that Louis had the night before. Maybe that was a side-effect; maybe that was why people didn’t do this. 

But then Harry hid his face in his hands, embarrassment melting into disbelieving giggles. “Um. Oh god,” said Harry, peaking out at Louis. “That was — holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. He hadn’t smiled so wide in a long time. Harry’s hair was wild and they stared at each other for a moment, giddy. Then, Harry seemed to refocus. 

“Are you —Do you need — ?” Harry reached a clumsy hand out and ran his hand over Louis' cock through his trousers. 

Louis' brain short circuited. _Yes_ he needed, so badly in fact that he didn’t think he had the capacity to take off his trousers, or wait for Harry to do it for him.

“ _Yes_ , Harry, fuck, can I just —” he pushed forward to make contact between Harry’s bare hip and his crotch. It felt _so_ good, and he was already losing it. 

“Yeah,” said Harry, and reached an arm around Louis' shoulders to hold him close, protectively. Louis pushed his hips forward four, five more times and that was all he needed before he felt sweet relief, shuddering and shaking just like Harry had moments before. 

When it was over he felt boneless, moulding himself to Harry’s body. He felt embarrassed, a bit, but nothing like he’d felt the night before. It was hard to feel shame, anyway, with the way Harry was staring at him in dual shock and awe. 

“Lou,” whispered Harry. That made Louis shudder all over again, his cock giving one more weak throb in his pants. 

“Harry,” said Louis dumbly. 

“Lou.” Harry smiled more and more. 

“I like that,” said Louis softly. Vulnerable, but safe with his bare torso against Harry’s. 

“Hmm?”

“No one else has called me anything but Louis.”

“Oh. Lou.” said Harry, just to see Louis grin. There was silence for a moment, and then he spoke again. “No one has called me anything but Harry.” 

That gave Louis pause. He’d never felt the urge before, but suddenly it felt a crime to refer to Harry exclusively by his given name. Sure, it suited him — but his and Harry’s relationship was special. He wanted a name for Harry that was as special as their bond; unique only to him. 

“Well,” said Louis. “Your name doesn’t shorten as easily as mine.” He brought a hand up to Harry’s head and combed his fingers through his hair. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and Louis felt his body relax even further. God. Louis wanted to see Harry like this, pliant and beautiful, every day for the rest of his life. “I’ll have to think of something else. We’ll make it good,” he promised. 

“Okay,” mumbled Harry sleepily, smiling with his eyes still closed. “M’tired. Wanna sleep up here with me?” 

Louis' heart fluttered at the invitation. For years and years, they’d slept on makeshift beds on the floors of each other’s rooms. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Thank you.” 

“Thank _you_ ,” Harry corrected. “Gonna go brush my teeth. And clean... this stuff.” He rolled off the bed, but stopped to survey Louis below him. Louis felt his eyes travel down his body, and heard a sharp intake of breath when he reached Louis' midsection. “Louis,” he said. 

Louis looked down. His cock had softened by this point, but there was a prominent dark patch on the front of his trousers from the peak of his pleasure. He felt his cheeks flush, but Harry was staring at him with eyes that _still_ weren’t disgusted, but instead hungry, wanting, all over again. “Lou,” he said again. 

“Yeah?” breathed Louis, still self-conscious about being on display like this. 

“Can I — can I see, please.” He said it as a statement. 

Louis' mind was bending, still trying to comprehend the idea that Harry _wanted_ him in this way. “Oh — yeah,” he stuttered, and reached for his trousers with what he realised were shaky hands. He lifted his hips and pulled his trousers and pants off in one go, shutting his eyes and forcing himself not to cover himself as he took them off his ankles. 

He opened his eyes to see Harry’s eyes fixed still on him, or rather, at the mess of hair and sticky stuff and everything else between his legs. Louis followed his gaze, and realised that he could feel his cock beginning to harden again. “Lou,” said Harry for the hundredth time, this time his voice barely there. 

“Yeah,” said Louis, not fully knowing what he was agreeing to, but suddenly needing Harry back again; needed his mouth and his breath and his closeness. Harry climbed back onto the bed and connected their lips, and Louis jumped when Harry’s hand slid boldly down his stomach and onto his cock.

“Tell me what’s good,” whispered Harry into Louis' mouth. Louis could only gasp and nod because Harry had started exploring his cock, playing with the underside of the head that was _fuck_ , so sensitive, especially now that this was the second time. Louis quickly disappeared into a haze of pleasure, and of course he had to reach for Harry after his own release. In the end, they were significantly waylaid on their way to brushing their teeth. 

***

A week later, Louis woke up to a faceful of brown curls and a warm weight against his chest. Carefully, as to not wake Harry, Louis shifted far enough away to stretch, and turned back to look at Harry. 

Unsure of the consequences they’d face if Harry’s parents discovered them burrowed together under Harry’s duvet, they’d taken to locking Harry’s bedroom door at night. This morning was the fourth time the sun had risen on them tangled up together, and Louis was quickly finding nights in his own bed cold and lonely in comparison. 

Harry was so peaceful in his sleep, Louis marveled. Now with the prospect of the entire weekend stretched out luxuriously in front of them, Louis already had a list of things he wanted to do. Not all of them were new ways he wanted to try touching Harry, after having done the same almost every day this week. Not all of them, but... perhaps most of them. 

Harry let out a particularly sweet sigh, and Louis shifted a bit to see his face better. Maybe it was a little creepy, but Louis didn’t think Harry would mind. Harry’s breathing changed eventually, and Louis could tell he was waking up. 

“Hi, peach,” said Louis softly. Since their conversation about special names for each other, Louis had been enjoying trying out a wide array. 

Harry’s arm reached out blindly to drape over Louis' body. “Don’t do it,” Harry slurred from beside him, before his eyes were even open. Louis wouldn’t have believed he was awake, had his hand not simultaneously tightened on Louis' elbow. 

“Don’t do what,” whispered Louis. He stroked a hand through Harry’s hair — something that was quickly becoming one of his favourite things to do. 

“I don’want you to take The Drug,” said Harry. “S’not gonna be like this anymore.” The words took a moment to filter through Louis' sleep-hazy brain. But once they did — _Oh_. Oh, no.

Louis reeled. In all the time he’d spent mourning the way The Drug would take Harry’s warmth from his life, he’d never stopped to consider Harry’s side. Harry was two whole years younger than Louis. _Harry_ would be the one who would have to watch as Louis became distant and work-focused. He’d have it worse; way worse than Louis. 

Louis wasn’t aware of any other friends who were like him and Harry — especially after this last week — but he was quite sure that if they _did_ exist, they’d stop as they got their first Drug dose. He knew what adults were like. The idea of them ever being this warm, this soft, with one another was laughable. And Harry would have to endure _two years_ of Louis being like that, before he became cold and serious himself. That thought in itself, of Harry without his warmth and soft touches and sweet breath, was shocking enough. Louis felt ill. 

“I —” he started. His heart was beating wildly now, and he knew Harry could feel it with how close their bodies were. But before he could continue, Harry cut him off. 

“I know,” said Harry. His eyes were finally open, but he was rolling away from Louis to stare at the ceiling. Louis felt it like a punch to the stomach. “I know that you’re excited to become an adult and start working and this is just — _I’m_ just a nice thing you can do to pass the time before your birthday. But I just — sorry. Forget I said it.” 

“Peach,” said Louis. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

Louis ached to reach for him. “Harry. That’s not — that’s not what I want at all. You said last week that you didn’t want to lose me. I don’t want to lose you either. I don’t _want_ to take The Drug.”

Harry’s eyes remained on the ceiling. “Yeah, but you will.” 

Suddenly, Louis was angry. Why did he have to give up something so wonderful the moment he turned eighteen? Why was he expected to live a life devoid of the heat of Harry’s body; the warmth of his trust? The whole thing was stupid, stupid beyond belief. The decision was simple. 

“No,” he said, surprising even himself with the resoluteness in his voice. He sat up in bed, the duvet pooling around his waist. “No, I won’t. I’m not going to.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” said Harry, and Louis could hear his eyes rolling from his tone of voice. The bed dipped as Harry moved to get up, but Louis reached out for him; snatched him back by the arm. 

“No. I don’t care,” said Louis nonsensically. “I won’t take it unless they force it down my throat. I’ll — I’ll hide. I’ll run away. I’m not taking it. I _won’t_.” 

Somewhere in his brain Louis was aware of how ridiculous he must look. A sleep-bleary teeanger wearing only borrowed pants with hair sticking up at every angle, sitting in bed and declaring that he’d take on the government? Evade the most fundamental requirement of society? Ludicrous; idiotic. But he didn’t care, because Harry was looking back at him for the first time that morning with wide eyes. 

“Lou...” Harry breathed. What he really meant was, _do you really mean it?_

Louis released Harry’s arm and climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. “I’m serious.” 

They were silent for a long time, staring at each other, daring one another to break. To back out. Ultimately, it was Harry who whispered into the silence. Just one word, fragile and hopeful. 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” Louis found Harry’s hand and gripped it hard. “I just — I can’t go back now. I don’t want to spend the next two years being cold to you. And after that...” Louis trailed off, a sick feeling in his stomach at the idea of Harry taking The Drug himself; an expiration date on their — on _them_. But that was Harry's decision to make, and not Louis'. He broke their eye contact; focused on Harry’s pillowcase instead.

“No,” said Harry, an echo of Louis not minutes before. “I won’t take it either. Not ever.” Louis looked back at Harry and saw his face determined. “I’ll come with you,” said Harry. “Let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😳🥺
> 
> [fic post](https://jishlerfics.tumblr.com/post/642756421560270848/before-the-advancement-most-human-lives-and)


	2. Only The Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who catches the reference to iconic children's book Robi Dobi: i'm in love with you. just thought i'd let you know <3  
> As a reminder: the story concludes in this chapter; chapter 3 is just a short coda!

The emotional weight of what they were about to do took a back seat to the fact that it was a logistical nightmare. Two boys, with relatively little relevant experience or knowledge, were about to run away and become fugitives — in the dead of winter, no less. They were inexperienced but not stupid, so the last weeks leading up to Louis' birthday saw an abrupt decrease in time they spent rolling around and moaning on Harry’s bed. Instead, they spent their time reading, studying survival manuals, and stocking up on supplies and money. They debated whether or not to bring a can opener, but certainly agreed on the tiny tent Louis' family owned and two sleeping bags. (They made sure they could zip the two sleeping bags together to form one larger one. If they were going to be on the run because of how much they wanted to be together, there was no way they’d tolerate separate sleeping arrangements. Plus, body heat.) 

The plan was to disappear, for at least the time period that people would still be looking for them. After that, they’d try to settle down somewhere; build alternate identities and find a way to earn money and a stable place to live. It didn’t matter if they had to pretend to reintegrate into regular society, they decided, as long as they could come home at the end of the day to privacy and each other. They debated whether or not to leave notes for their families. The decision was no, eventually — in case a more serious investigation was launched, they wanted to provide as few clues as possible. The fact that they would disappear together was evidence enough. 

They decided to keep a journal and alternate who wrote the entries, so at least a sheet of paper could watch them as they forged a new life together. And maybe, though they didn’t say it out loud, maybe someday they could look back and read each other’s entries; remember what it had been like before things got better. If they ever did. 

In a break from family tradition, Louis requested that they celebrate his birthday a day early, instead of in conjunction with Christmas eve. They needed to leave early on Louis' actual birthday, since Louis would be expected to take his first dose first thing in the morning when he turned eighteen. And while Louis welcomed the idea of not taking that pill, he couldn’t stomach the image of his mum pushing the door open to his room with a homemade birthday cake, a glass of water, and a little pill box balanced on the platter — only to find his bed empty and his sheets cold. 

It was strange, really, this idea of leaving their families. Harry and Louis talked about it a lot. There was comfort in their parents, their siblings, because of the stability they represented. Their families were pleasant; familiar. Their parents cared for them, comforted them when they were sick, and made sure they got to school on time. But despite this, Harry and Louis didn’t feel terribly upset or guilty for leaving them. In fact, it was this realisation that solidified their decision to leave. 

There was so much more to caring for people, they realised, than what The Drug seemed to allow. What would a family be like if it felt _warm?_ What about a life where people were excited to come home from work, because they got to see the people they cared about? The more they thought about it, the more they were convinced. They’d rather risk their lives and be together, than play it safe and let The Drug take them apart. 

Harry and Louis spent the last night before their departure apart, at their respective homes. Despite it being his own birthday celebration, Louis spent inordinate amounts of time with each of his sisters, dotingly doing and redoing their hair. He helped cook dinner, helped wash up; lingered in the kitchen and chatted to his mum about nothing. Eventually out of excuses to stay up, Louis went up to his room after saying goodnight to his parents. Oh god, he’d probably never see them again. Louis shut his door and felt fear wash over him, mind running in circles of everything that could possibly go wrong. 

He set his alarm for five AM — their appointed time, well before dawn in December — took a long shower, and got into bed. Hoping to trick his brain into believing it was really a living, breathing, curly-haired boy, Louis pulled a pillow to his chest. The assurance that he’d fall asleep with the real Harry tomorrow night — and every night in the future — was what finally allowed him to drift off into a fitful sleep. 

***

_24 December 2531. 20:32_

_First day gone. Lou’s eighteenth birthday. We walked northeast today from Doncaster. Made it about six miles, I think. We’re in the hayloft of a small barn, which looks like it hasn’t been used in years — especially because there’s a bigger, newer barn on the other side of the property. It’s risky to do this but it’s so cold tonight. That’s the thing that makes me feel hopeless, really. We have to make it more than two months before we can start hoping for warmer weather. It’s so cold tonight, but what about tomorrow night? What about the next night? What about the inevitable February cold snap when the temperature doesn’t rise above freezing point during the day? I’m scared. I’m scared. I don’t regret this, but I’m scared. — H._

_20 February 2532. 19:50_

_Harry is endlessly annoying. I can’t believe the things he does sometimes. It’s freezing today and we’ve barely had any food in the last three days. We’re sleeping in the tent tonight, in some woods. I don’t like these woods. I should never have listened to him when he suggested_ asking _that lady for food. Who the fuck just gives food to two boys who haven’t had a proper wash in weeks? I don’t want to share the sleeping bag with him but it’s so cold. I hate this. — L._

_21 February 2532. 09:25_

_Harry is sick. I’m so scared. He woke up coughing this morning and he keeps getting hot and cold and hot and cold again. I didn’t want him to walk today, he needs to rest, so we’re staying put. That itself is scary, because a few days ago I saw a newspaper that had a story about us. ‘Two teenagers on the run, government searching for them, if you see them call this number’... it’s terrifying. Why are they putting in so much effort to find us? What the fuck do they care about us for? I knew the government was pretty forceful about people taking The Drug but this is insane. I just hope they’ll give up soon. I’m going to leave Harry for a bit now, to try to find us a warmer place to sleep tonight. I’m so scared. He’s just... he’s mine, my Harry, my whole world. I’ve never seen his eyes so dull. But if he gets really ill, we’ll have to give up and turn ourselves in so he can get medicine and I’ll have to take The Drug and he’ll still want me to hold him but I won’t even want to. I can’t imagine not wanting to. I feel so bad for being stroppy with him yesterday. I just want him to be safe and warm and happy. And not sick. — L._

_25 February 2532. 20:01_

_We’ve been crying a lot. In a good way, I think. I think me getting sick kind of reminded us of the stakes here... how even though things are terrible a lot of the time, the bottom line is that we care about each other more than anything and we’re doing this to try to have a better life for ourselves. Lou found another newspaper with another article about us today. It seems like they haven’t really made progress in finding us yet, but we’re terrified for when.... no, IF they do. I feel much better today, so we walked a few kilometers. — H._

_07 March 2532. 21:10_

_Tonight Louis pulled my hair while I had my mouth on his cock... it made me feel crazy... I had to touch myself while my mouth was still on him and even after my release he pulled me up and kept pulling my hair and started touching me all over again. Hair-pulling... who’d’ve guessed. :D — H._

_12 March 2532. 19:32_

_Walked a long way today; warm-ish weather. Found a secluded stream in which we had a_ very _cold wash. It was good, though, because it had been a week since we found that tap at that old farm and we were starting to smell pretty bad. I feel like we’ve both aged years since we left. We were so immature back then. It’s barely been a few months but we know so much more now. About each other and also about the world. Sometimes we get so mad at each other but even so, every day I feel stronger and stronger in my care for him. “Care” is such a weak word. We need to invent a new one because this feeling is so much bigger. So much deeper. How is it possible that you spend every minute of every day with someone, and still you feel giddy and fluttery when they smile at you? We’re partners, in every sense of the word. Me and him against the world. — L._

***

Harry and Louis weren’t the only ones. That’s what they discovered, about three months into their exile. The fact was shocking and exciting and validating. Things were looking up. The weather was just getting warmer, they were getting better at finding food, and they’d recently discovered that instead of using their hands on each other’s cocks, they could use their _mouths_. Things were looking up in many ways, but the thing that took the cake was their discovery that they weren’t the only ones. It went like this: 

_“Harry!”_ Louis was calling out to him from far away, far down the path they’d made themselves in their most recent home in the woods. Harry’s pulse skyrocketed immediately and he scrambled out of the tent. 

“What!” he yelled into the woods. Louis was running, it sounded like, and Harry’s mind created a new disaster scenario every second. The government had found them. The berries they’d foraged were actually poisonous. Wolves. But Louis soon broke into the clearing, with arms laden with food and an elated grin. 

“What,” repeated Harry, annoyed now that he saw nothing was amiss. Louis was undeterred, though, and dropped the food into the tent before pulling Harry to the ground to sit cross-legged across from each other. 

He seemed out of breath from running, but soon gathered himself enough to speak. “I saw the most amazing thing,” he started. 

“I was in the supermarket — oh, it was fine, by the way, I was really fast and I had my hood up and nobody even looked at me — and I saw these people. Two adults, in the produce section, shopping for like, uh, leafy greens?”

Harry was still annoyed. They stayed out of supermarkets and any establishments that could have security cameras as much as they could (it’s not like they had much money, anyway, and they didn’t want to get caught stealing), but sometimes it was unavoidable for essentials like bandages and toothpaste. They tried to retain some sense of normalcy by finding ways to brush their teeth. And besides, with all the touching mouths they did, toothpaste _was_ a top-tier essential. What was Louis saying? Leafy greens. Harry would kill for some fresh leafy greens. Maybe some swiss chard. He’d sauté it with garlic and a bit of lemon and salt. He’d cut up the stems and put them in first so they got softer, and then the leaves later— 

“Harry, please.” Louis was looking at him, eyes still shining. “I promise, this is really good.” 

Fine. Harry focused back on Louis. 

“They were shopping for leafy greens, not doing much, just, like, talking to each other quietly and deciding what they wanted. But, Harry — it was the way they were looking at each other. The way _you_ look at me, like I’m... like I’m important to you and you _care_ about me... was the way they were looking at each other.” 

“Yeah?” said Harry. He’d never seen himself look at Louis but he knew the way Louis looked at him. 

“I’ve... I’ve never seen anyone look at someone that way, besides us. So gently, you know? And I just — I think they’re like us. They don’t take The Drug. And they’re... partners.” 

“Yeah?” said Harry again, now breathless himself. 

“Yeah, I’m just so _sure_ , it’s like — I wouldn’t have noticed it if I didn’t know what it looked like. I don’t think anyone else could tell. But they were just there, shopping for greens, together...” 

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He launched himself forward, crawling into Louis' lap and holding him close. “Lou,” he choked out. 

“Yeah, I know —” Louis' arms were around him too, face in Harry’s neck. This was the best news they’d gotten in months; a new, realistic spin on their wildest hopes. What if someday, Harry thought brokenly, he and Louis could go to the shops together and argue over which cheese or greens or fruit to get, like the people in the shop. That’d mean that they’d have a kitchen, a permanent home together where they cooked and remembered to buy toilet paper and could sleep in the same bed whenever they wanted. Actually, oh god, what if — 

“Lou,” said Harry urgently. He wiped his tears and leaned back to look at Louis. “Lou. Someday, when we have a place to live, let’s not even have our own beds.” The idea felt outrageous; decadent. “Let’s push two beds together so we can have a big bed, and we can share it, and we can sleep there together every night.” 

This earned him a gasp from Louis, and Harry only got a flash of teary blue eyes before their mouths were crushed together, messily communicating what they couldn’t say in words. They stayed like that, mouths sliding together, and eventually Harry felt himself being pushed onto his back. Fingers traveled all over his body, and then the slowest, gentlest hand was pulling him to hardness, sending him into a shivery, syrupy place of warmth and bliss. After Harry came down he rolled them over and pushed Louis' shirt up to map out his stomach with his lips, before easing Louis' trousers open and sucking him into his mouth. Harry used one hand to help his mouth and reached the other one up, tangling their fingers together as Louis came apart on the forest floor. 

***

_April 19 2532, 20:20_

_Okay day today. Walked a lot. Rained a lot. I miss school. I liked going to classes, learning stuff, seeing people... I haven’t had a proper conversation with someone who isn’t Louis since we left. It’s been four months. That’s crazy. I feel like I should hate him by now, but I only care for him more and more. Still, it would be nice to see some other people... — H._

_April 24 2532, 19:45_

_Found an entire loaf of bread today. It was kind of stale but so good. We didn’t finish the whole thing, and tomorrow we want to find somewhere we can build a fire so we can make it into toast. It’s little things like that, little nice things, that keep us going._

_In other news, Louis has renewed his commitment to finding a name to call me besides Harry. Names he tried out today: Nectarine, and rhubarb. I’m starting to think he’s just calling me the things he wants to eat. I told him that and he said he wants to eat ME. Then he bit my hips and put my cock in his mouth so I stopped complaining._

_Almost every time we find a newspaper, we find an article about us. They’re still looking for us, even though it’s been four months to the day. I wish they’d stop. Let us be. — H._

_May 2 2532, 03:34_

_We were settling in for the night when we heard helicopter sounds. Our fire was still going so we put it out and covered it with rocks and wet dirt to contain the smoke and then we packed our stuff and ran. The helicopter sounds continued for so long so we just kept running. I twisted my ankle at one point so we had to slow down. The sounds finally got further away and by that point we were deep in these woods anyway. I have no idea where we are and it’s so dark. Obviously. Extra bad because I think we need to get new batteries for our torch soon. We’re going to try to sleep now. This could be the end. We’re petrified. — L._

_May 4 2532, 02:52_

_Third night of this bullshit. They wait until after sundown and then start chasing after us. Are they trying to exhaust us until we give up? We can’t keep this up for much longer, anyway. We need a new strategy. We haven’t been near towns for the last few days, so I don’t know what the articles are saying. I wish we knew that at least. — L._

_May 5 2532, 21:00_

_We realised that we were really near the seaside, somewhere on the west coast. So today we walked all the way out to the beach, because they never look for us during the day anyway (we think...) and it was a cloudy day on a rocky beach so no one was around. We found this little cave, it’s kind of beautiful actually, and we watched it during high tide and saw that the water came in, but a good amount of land stayed dry even during the highest tide. So we’re actually camped in this cave tonight, and we’re hoping that maybe they won’t realise that this is actually a safe place for us to spend the night. The terrific anxiety and exhaustion of the past few days aside, it was really nice to be by the sea and the sound of the water is soothing. Today Louis has been calling me tomatillo. We’re going to sleep now, and hoping for the best. — H._

_May 6 2532, 20:10_

_We heard helicopters last night, but they were far away. So we’re staying in this same cave again that we found yesterday, hoping that we can hide here long enough for them to give up. Today was a warm day, but still no one was on the beach so we sort-of swam in the sea (it was still way too cold). The problem is that our torch battery is dead now, so I’m writing this with the last of the daylight in the sky. We don’t want to go into a town yet, so we’ll be in the dark for the next few nights. It would be kind of nice if it wasn’t also dangerous — if we have to move in the night, I don’t know what we’ll do. Harry’s telling me to come and lie down with him on the beach and look at the stars, so I can’t say no to that. — L._

***

Harry was lounging on the beach, head in Louis' lap. Louis' fingers tangled into his hair, and Harry’s insides felt like melted butter. If he wasn’t so hungry, if his life wasn’t in constant jeopardy, and the government wasn’t searching for them, he’d be fully relaxed. 

“Lou?” asked Harry idly, looking up at Louis' chin. 

Louis looked down. “Yes, french fry?” 

Harry giggled, sudden happiness blooming up from his gut. “Wanna find some food?” 

“Sure.” 

Harry got up, and tugged on Louis' hands until he stood too. They embraced for a long moment, listening to the waves. “Lou,” said Harry, whispered this time.

“Hmm?” 

“I actually like it when you call me those things.” 

Louis pulled back to look at him, a soft smile on his face. “I know.” 

*** 

_May 10 2532, 19:59_

_Fifth night in the cave and fifth night of no helicopters. I think that’s good news :) Tomorrow we’re going to walk inland a bit to try and find a newspaper and batteries._

_Last night we were sitting on the beach and Harry just looks... especially beautiful in the moonlight. His hair is getting so long, mine too, I guess, but his grows into these sweet little curls on his neck. I took him inside the cave and laid him out on the sleeping bag. It was pitch dark so we couldn’t see each other, just feel. I took off his clothes and touched him for ages, till he was sweating and desperate. He couldn’t keep his body still, like the sea from our cave was inside of him. Someday when we have a big bed of our own I’m going to lay him out in the daylight and learn every part of him, every way to make him feel good. I just want him, want everything he is, all the time. Today I called him Honey which feels fitting. Our biggest hope is to have somewhere to live before it gets cold again. — L._

_May 11 2532, 20:43_

_Good news today. We got what we needed in town in... various methods... including a newspaper and a map. We couldn’t believe what we read: It seems that we’ve inadvertently faked our own deaths, because there was an article that was like, “update on the case of the criminal teenagers: they’re believed to be dead so the government has ceased its search.” They only were doing it because Lou is eighteen and he doesn’t do his Drug check-ins. They don’t care that we’ve been in danger, that we left our families... Only that Louis doesn’t show up to a Drug dispensary every second Sunday. It’s so fucked up._

_According to the map, we’re pretty much exactly northeast of Leeds. The plan is to make our way in that direction, and see what we find. — H._

***

It took Harry and Louis until August to find more people like them. In the end, though, it was really more that someone who was like Harry and Louis found _them_. 

Harry and Louis reached the outskirts of Leeds one morning, and became suddenly aware of how much they stood out in an urban environment with their torn clothes and bulky backpacks. They couldn’t risk stashing their belongings somewhere, so they tried to take it in stride; pretend that they were supposed to be there and that the sight of strangers on the street didn’t make their hearts jump with anxiety. They laid low, camping out in a dark corner of a park, stealing food, and trying to get a feel for the city. They’d both been to Leeds with their families before. But the city was completely different, they found, when you lived outside. 

They’d both reached the point, they could tell, where their exhaustion weighed on them heavier and heavier by the day. Even their sleeping bag was wearing thin, and they were weak from malnourishment. Harry and Louis knew they needed to find jobs and a place to stay, but every day they found themselves at a loss. They’d been in the area for long enough to recognise some of the dreary commuters who passed by each morning and evening, and every day they watched them walk to and from work and tried to remember what it was like to be part of society at all. 

“Oi, you took way more than me,” said Louis as he nicked the stolen bread they were sharing as dinner from Harry’s hands. 

“Did not,” countered Harry petulantly, but he only tried half-heartedly to get it back. Louis evaded him, and managed to rip off a large chunk and shove it into his mouth. 

“Terrible,” said Harry, but the corners of his mouth still ticked up as he watched Louis try to chew an amount of bread far beyond his mouth’s capacity. Harry sighed, fantasizing about warm bread and pastries. “Maybe I’d like to be a baker,” he said. 

Louis nodded encouragingly from behind his mouthful. He’d clearly picked up on Harry’s weariness, and Harry could see right through him as he jumped into an elaborate pantomime of making bread. Despite himself, Harry giggled as Louis dramatically kneaded his imaginary dough, and was in full-on stitches by the time Louis finally put it in the oven, wiping his imaginarily-sweaty forehead off and collapsing back onto the bench next to Harry. Tender affection crept into Harry’s chest for the boy beside him. Their attention to one another; their mutual dedication to the other’s happiness. As they settled down again, Harry could see his own gentle melancholy reflected back at him in Louis' eyes. 

“Excuse me,” said a voice nearby. 

The bubble around them burst, and Harry’s stomach dropped. They’d been so caught up in each other that they hadn’t noticed a woman, one of the commuters, deviating from her path to come stand before them. The warmth drained out of Harry instantly and was replaced with a cold wash of fear. 

They’d barely interacted with anyone besides each other since last December. He’d never seen photos of him and Louis printed along with the articles, but what if she recognised them; what if she knew; what if she turned them in? Harry reeled, trying helplessly to come up with anything he could say to save them but coming up with nothing; nothing but blind panic. 

“Yes?” he heard in Louis' voice beside him. They were already quite close together, and Harry felt Louis reach surreptitiously behind their backs to grip Harry’s arm. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” began the woman. Harry forced himself to focus. She was middle-aged and had a kind disposition, and he recognised her as one of the regular commuters. None of those things, though, did anything to assuage his anxiety. 

“I don’t really know how to ask this, but, um... You two are mates, right?”

“Yeah,” said Louis. His eyes were narrow. 

“Right, of course,” she said. Harry looked at her carefully. There was something off about this interaction, he thought. For someone about to receive a reward for turning in two presumed-dead wanted criminals, she seemed almost nervous. 

“Well, I have a close mate, as well. And the way you two were, um, talking together reminded me of my friend and I. How we... talk together.”

The speech was so very odd, and something in the way she was choosing her words so carefully gave Harry even more pause. He found his voice. 

“How so?” he asked. 

“Well, we care about each other a lot, my friend and I,” she said. Every word was deliberate, and she was now looking at Harry calculatingly. Like she was speaking in code, and waiting to see if Harry could understand. “We actually live together, in a house with another one of our mates.” 

Harry thought back to that day in the forest; Louis' giddy realisation that there must be others like them. The hope was irrational but Harry was sixteen and hungry and exhausted and maybe, just _maybe_ — “Do you share a room?” he asked. “With your friend?” 

“Yes,” said the woman, smiling now. Like Harry had guessed the code, and started to speak back. “We actually even share a bed.” 

Harry heard Louis gasp quietly beside him. 

“Really?” asked Louis. He now had a death grip on Harry’s arm, but for a different reason than before. 

“Yes,” said the woman, turning to Louis. “Do you two live together?” 

“Um,” said Louis. Harry felt self-conscious of their dirt-streaked faces and stuffed backpacks; knew she could tell that they didn’t live _anywhere_. “We’re travelling.”

“I see,” she said. “And may I ask... how old are you?” 

Harry knew that this could still be a trap. Louis would admit he was eighteen, police would descend upon them and demand a blood sample to prove he’d taken The Drug last Sunday, and when they saw he hadn’t, the two of them would be separated forever. 

But there was something in the woman’s eyes that just made Harry... believe her. A warmth, that he’d never seen in any adult before. He nudged Louis gently, hoping desperately that he’d judged correctly. He’d never forgive himself if, in this moment, he was wrong. 

There was a moment’s pause, and then Louis took his lead. “Eighteen,” he whispered. 

There were no sirens; no police officers emerging from behind the bushes. Just a sad, knowing smile that spread across the woman’s face. 

“My name is Marie,” she said. She looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “And my — well, my partner’s name is Poppy. We’ve been together for twenty-two years. And we don’t take The Drug, either.” 

“Oh,” Harry heard himself saying. He could barely believe the luck they’d stumbled into. The woman — Marie — was swimming in front of him so he scrubbed at his eyes. 

“You two look like you could use some food,” said Marie gently. “And maybe a place to sleep?”

Harry swiped fresh tears from his eyes and looked up at Marie. “Thank you,” whispered Louis from beside him. 

“Thank you,” echoed Harry. He sank into Louis' side, overwhelmed by this scenario that was more outlandish than their wildest hopes. Food, safety, comfort, kindness. Harry tried to smile at Marie, but his face crumpled again into tears. 

“I know what it’s like,” said Marie as an answer to their unspoken question. “And it’s no trouble to us.”

Harry could only nod, a million questions swirling in his head. They both stood and shouldered their packs, and without another word, followed Marie out of the park and through the streets of Leeds. 

***

They communicated some more essential information once they got into the house — Harry and Louis' names (“Oh my goodness, _you_ were the boys they kept printing those articles about! I knew I shouldn’t have believed them when they said you were dead”), that nobody living in the house took The Drug, and that Harry and Louis could take the empty upstairs bedroom for the night (“A younger pair, Jonathan and Emelia, had been living there up until a few months ago when they got their own flat”), and that Poppy had been delayed in making dinner that night so they still had an hour to kill. 

The bedroom was empty except two sets of drawers, a small lamp, and a desk. “Jonathan and Emelia took the bed with them when they left,” explained Marie as she opened the curtains to let the evening light through. Harry’s stomach flipped over at _the bed_. Singular. “We have a spare mattress, though, and some sheets and things. Maybe you’d like to shower and I’ll go and find them?” 

A shower. Bedclothes. Harry could cry. They spent their evening in a haze, showering, meeting Poppy and their other roommate Jeremy (an affable schoolteacher in his mid-twenties), and eating their first proper meal in months. The three of them seemed to pick up on Harry and Louis' overwhelmed exhaustion and didn’t ask them questions, just spoke quietly about their days as Harry and Louis gave profuse expressions of gratitude and ate their way through seconds and thirds. They were asleep not twenty minutes after Jeremy shooed them away from helping with the washing-up, holding each other tightly with the last rays of sunlight still lingering in the sky. 

*** 

They passed much of the next day in the same way, eating and sleeping and luxuriating in the comfort of a roof over their heads while the house’s usual occupants were at work. They didn’t know how long their stroke of luck and hosts’ hospitality would extend, so in the afternoon they began the careful process of sorting through their belongings; regrouping themselves for when they had to next be on their own. It was only in the evening, after Jeremy had accepted Harry’s offer to help him cook and the five of them were settled around the kitchen table that Poppy finally asked them for their story. 

Harry and Louis told the story of the past ten months, taking turns, or butting in when the other wasn’t doing justice to a detail. They recounted, blushingly, their first few weeks together and their discovery of how much richer and joyous life could be. They explained their escape, the misery of the winter, the aching hunger and perpetual cold. Their first breath of hope in the spring, the people in the grocery store; the helicopters, the terror, the cave on the beach.

“And so,” said Louis, “we’re trying to start a new life here. We’re going to find jobs, so we can pay for a place to stay. And then, well —” he cut himself off, looking at Harry for permission to go on. Harry nodded, but felt his face flush. “Harry would really like to go back to school someday.” The idea seemed ridiculously frivolous and far-fetched, but on the other hand, they’d stumbled into kindness that they’d never even dared to hope for. Maybe it could really happen. “And I, um, I don’t really know what I want to do yet.” 

Harry reached for Louis' hand under the table. “And we’re so grateful that you’ve let us stay with you,” Harry added. “We were really starting to struggle and it felt — feels miraculous that you found us. We’ll leave, um, well, any time that works for you, I guess.” 

The table was quiet for a moment, before Marie giggled. Harry felt anxious; had they already overstayed their welcome? But before he could start to apologise, Poppy rolled her eyes and spoke. 

“The three of us already talked last night after you went to bed,” she said. “We have no intention of kicking you guys out. You’re welcome to live with us, for as long as you want. We’ll add you to the cooking rota, and once you start making money you can contribute to groceries and things.” 

“You’re safe here,” Marie tacked on. “We’ve got pretty good at this stuff by now. You’re free to go, of course, but we’d be happy to have you.” 

It was a repeat of the day before. By the time Harry and Louis had finished blubbering their acceptance and gratitude they’d also asked for Poppy and Marie’s backstories, and then they had to hear Jeremy’s as well. It was late by the time Harry and Louis ran out of wide-eyed _and then what?’_ s, so Jeremy excused himself to mark papers while the remaining four moved to the sitting room. 

There was something about presenting themselves as a pair, as _partners_ , in front of other people that made Harry giddy; possessive. He was Louis' and Louis was his, and he’d scarcely felt more content than when Louis' arm immediately snaked around him when they sat together on the sofa. 

Poppy picked up a guitar and settled on a chair across from them, Marie leaning against her legs on the floor. There was a pleasant heaviness to the air, as if it was time for bed soon but not quite yet. Harry closed his eyes, listening as Poppy hummed along, softly playing songs he’d never heard before. 

“Poppy,” said Marie quietly after a while, nudging her foot. Poppy looked down and stopped playing, putting a hand on Marie’s shoulder instead. 

“Yeah?” 

“Play that old one... the one that’s like, love is only for the brave.” 

“Oh, yeah.” said Poppy, returning her hands to her guitar. Her aimless plucking from before switched to strumming, like she was trying to remember the chords. “I like that one. Feels pertinent.” Harry burrowed closer into Louis' side, relishing as always in the comfort of his closeness. Poppy sang the song slowly, pausing between lines as if to give them their space. 

_Pour mercy, mercy on me, set fire to history_

_I'm breaking my own rules, I'm crying like a fool_

_Tall stories on the page, short glories on the fade_

_I been close enough to touch, but I never cared for love_

_It's a church of burnt romances_

_And I'm too far gone to pray_

_It's a solo song and it's only for the brave._

Something was haunting but beautiful about the song, and Louis reached for Harry’s hand as she played on. 

_If the truth tell, darling, you fell_

_Like there ain't enough dying stars in your sky_

_It's a tall tale, and it's only hello, hello, no goodbye..._

_Pour mercy, mercy on me, I'll fall upon my knees_

_And they'll say, "I told you so_

_Come on, when you know, you know"_

_All the lonely shadow dances from the cradle to the grave_

_It's a solo song and it's only for the brave._

The sound dissipated into the air, and Harry found himself with goosebumps. “That’s beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Poppy. “It’s an old song, from before the Advancement.”

“There were words in there I didn’t know,” said Louis after a comfortable silence. “You said _I never cared for love_... what’s ‘love’?”

“Oh,” said Poppy. A soft smile was spreading across her face, the gentlest thing. “You haven’t heard of it?” 

“No,” said Louis, and Harry shook his head as well. Poppy and Marie shared a glance, and Poppy nodded at Marie, telling her to take over. 

“Love is what you two have,” said Marie. “That’s the word for how you feel about each other, and for how Poppy and I feel about each other.” 

A warm feeling was spreading through Harry, burning especially where his and Louis' bodies met. “Love,” he repeated quietly, testing the strange word on his tongue. A floorboard creaked in the hallway and Jeremy appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. 

“It’s what I feel for the two of them, too,” said Jeremy, gesturing at Poppy and Marie. “Sometimes it’s without the commitment, or the physicality... Sometimes it’s just between friends, because you care about each other and enjoy spending time together.” 

“Oh,” said Louis beside him. Both their worlds were tilting on their axes. Louis tucked Harry closer into his chest and suddenly, images of a future were filling Harry’s mind. Him and Louis and their _love_ , only strengthening over time. Him and Louis, shopping for food together. Him and Louis and friends, caring for each other, lov — ing? each other in different ways. A whole life, just like this, with Louis' arms around him. 

“Love,” said Harry again, and turned up to face Louis. For the second time that night, Harry could see tear tracks on his cheeks. 

“Love,” repeated Louis back to him, like he was _calling_ Harry “love;” like Harry encompassed all that meant for him. Of all the names Louis had called him in the past months, this was by far his favourite. Harry couldn’t do anything but lean upwards; exhale shakily as he softly slotted their lips together. 

A floorboard creaked again and Harry and Louis jumped apart, sheepishly reminded that they weren’t the only ones in the room. They both giggled, embarrassed, but their new housemates just looked on fondly. “It’s nice to have a word for it, yeah?” asked Marie. 

“Yeah,” said Harry and Louis in unison. Then Harry giggled, again, because they were safe and well-fed and _happy_ , and now he had a word for how his knees went weak when Louis threw a smile his way. 

“There’s more... information that you’d probably like to know,” said Marie. 

“A couple of years ago, we heard rumours about a government archive that was being reshuffled. Something about changing how the stuff was organised, I think. We decided that the transition would probably be the best opportunity we’d have to try and get some information — it was a whole archive about The Drug, and the Advancement, and what The Drug takes away.”

“ Before we actually went to the archive, our friend Kate — you’ll meet her soon, I’m sure — hacked into their digital organisation system for us. She said it was a relatively simple hack. I guess since everyone takes The Drug, no one cares enough to go looking for this stuff. So the government banks on that, and doesn’t bother to protect it that much. It’s crazy.” 

“But anyway, we snooped around in the digital version of the archive to decide what we wanted to steal from the physical one. We all thought we’d be risking our lives to go to the archive, but they were doing that reshuffling and had totally let up on security during the process. It was like robbing a corner shop, not a government archive.” 

I guess the thing you guys should look at first is this copy of a public health official’s confidential briefing materials that we found... it’s in this cabinet, actually.” 

Harry and Louis listened in astonishment and watched wide-eyed as Marie removed a key from the carabiner on her belt, opened a drawer in the cabinet on the far wall, and unlocked what appeared to be a false bottom to the drawer. “We keep all the most damning stuff in here,” she explained. “The rest of it is sort of scattered around the house.” She produced a paperclipped bundle and handed it to Louis. 

“Don’t have my glasses on,” he said, handing it off to Harry. “Read it out loud?” 

Harry looked down at the paper, his eyes adjusting to the low light. _CLASSIFIED_ , it said in big, bold letters. He cheerfully relayed as much to Louis, who rolled his eyes. 

“I can read _that_ , Brussel Sprout. What does it say inside?”

Harry giggled and flipped to the next page. He took a breath, and began to read out loud. 

_Before The Advancement, most human lives and careers were plagued by irrationality and a lack of productivity. This was largely the symptom of what scientists refer to as “interpersonal passion.” Interpersonal passion is an umbrella term (derived from Latin_ passio, passionis, _meaning “suffering”) which included two separate (though often conjointly occurring) phenomena: “love,” and “sex.” “Love” was a pre-Advancement word which referred to an irrationally strong bond between two people, which caused its sufferers to prioritise their fellow “lover,” as well as the integrity of the malignant bond itself, over vital things such as workplace productivity. Many childrens’ friendships show evidence of the beginnings of “love,” but children’s friendships do not have the capacity to develop into full-fledged “love” since they are not yet adults. Especially because children are not in the workforce, their friendships are not threatening._

“Ha,” said Louis, cutting in. “We have ‘full-fledged love,’ and Harry’s not even seventeen.” Harry pressed his lips against Louis' self-satisfied grin, and carried on. 

_“Sex,” also a pre-Advancement word, referred to a similar phenomenon — but instead of being an affliction of the mind, it was an affliction of the body. The bodily systems that humans use to reproduce are the same ones that were also used in “sex.”_

_The Advancement is defined by the invention of The Drug by an international coalition of scientists in the year 2253. Taken every two weeks in pill form, The Drug immediately removes interpersonal passion from the human psyche. Scientists believed that The Drug, since it eliminates the cause of unproductivity, would create so much strength in the economy as to also eliminate such things as wars, bigotry, and interpersonal violence. This side effect would make people question The Drug even less. As we know however, violence and bigotry remain present in society. Scientists have been working since The Advancement to either modify The Drug or make a new one that can have this side effect. Regardless, our post-Advancement economies thrive, workers work harder than ever, and every person over eighteen takes The Drug gladly, grateful that it allows them to be productive, clear-headed, and rational members of society._

The room fell silent. Harry’s head was spinning, trying to make sense of what he’d read. The pieces started to click together in his brain and he shook his head, shocked with the stupidity; the fallacy of it all. He put the file aside. 

“This is absurd,” he said. “In school — literally the last project I did before we left — was on pre-Advancement psychology, remember, Lou?” 

Louis nodded. “Feels like another life, but yeah.” 

“And one of the things they taught us was that people, most fundamentally, want to be respected. My teacher told us that people want to be respected, and when someone isn’t able to find respect, they then resort to fear. Like, trying to make other people scared of them. So the idea was that after the invention of The Drug and all the changes with The Advancement, society was more productive so people could be respected more, and thus happier.”

“But they — they must have lied,” continued Harry. He disentangled himself from Louis and sat up straighter. “I bet what they _actually_ realised back then, pre-Advancement, was that humans first want _love_. Then they resort to respect. Then fear.” 

“Which is the reason that everyone is so miserable all the time,” interjected Louis. Harry looked over at him, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” breathed Harry. 

“I’d never thought about it from that angle,” said Poppy from across the room. “And it’s a really good point. But yeah, we realised pretty early on that The Drug is not actually for the sake of the people. I mean — you know how much our culture values work over everything else. It’s so we can be more productive workers; have a strong economy.” 

There was a beat of silence. “That’s so fucked up,” said Harry. 

Poppy sighed. “It is.” 

***

Louis and Harry settled quietly into bed later that evening, both of them still processing the revelations of the evening. They barely spoke a word to one another until they were tucked under the duvet, arms and legs intertwined. 

Harry smiled when he felt Louis' hand in his hair, combing through the curls that had become dull and unhealthy over the past few months. Now, along with the rest of Harry’s body, they had an opportunity to grow strong again. 

“Sweet pea,” sighed Louis into the darkness of their room. Harry smiled and pushed his head back into Louis' hand. “This is our bed.” 

The words sent a bolt of joy through Harry; satisfied a longing he’d had for months now. “Our bed,” repeated Harry. “Someday we’ll get another bed and push them together, just like we said. Then we can spread out. All that space, just for us.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Louis. 

“All that space for so many _things_ in that bed,” Harry added, punctuating _things_ with a cheeky thrust his hips against Louis' body. 

Louis giggled. “Absolutely.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then Louis spoke again, voice low. “Remember that night in the dark in the cave? When I touched you all over for so long, until you needed it so badly? And then I finally touched you where you wanted?” 

Harry shivered, feeling the pitch-black memories of Louis' hands and mouth all over his body. “Of course I remember,” whispered Harry. 

“I remember the day after that, I wrote in our journal how someday I was going to find all the ways to make you feel like that. Feel so good, you can hardly stand it, sweet pea.” 

“Lou,” said Harry shakily, pushing his body into Louis'. They’d barely done anything like this in weeks, not since they arrived in Leeds at least. They’d both been too exhausted; too broken down. Now, though, he felt his body waking up. He felt alive, and pulsing with need. 

Louis' hand ran up the back of Harry’s thigh and over his arse, to settle on the small of his back. “We can finally start,” whispered Louis. “We’ll have to be quiet when everyone’s home, but we can take all the time we want now.” Louis tugged on his hips and Harry went willingly, rolling on top of Louis. Straddling him, Harry sat up and reached over to turn on the lamp that they’d put beside their bed ( _our bed, our bed, our bed,_ said the voice in Harry’s head). Louis was now bathed in a soft light below him, his hair was tousled, he’d never looked more beautiful.

Harry felt deliciously _wanted_ with Louis' gaze tilted up at him. He pulled off his t-shirt and Louis' hands were on his hips instantly, fingers kneading at the flesh there. He experimentally rolled his hips forward, and Louis gasped below him. The movement didn’t give friction to Harry’s own cock, but evidently it did for Louis. Good to know. Harry giggled and moved off Louis' body, tugging down the pants he’d planned to sleep in. 

Louis kicked into gear and did the same, and as soon as his clothes were gone Harry straddled him again. They looked at each other, and Harry was reminded of the first revelation of the evening — before the classified documents; before the government conspiracy. There was a sudden softness to Louis' eyes, as if he was remembering as well. 

“Love,” whispered Louis. It was the second time he’d said it that way; like Harry _was_ love. Louis' fingers traced slowly over his jaw, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

Breath shaky, Harry tried it as a verb. “I...” he captured Louis' hands in his; brushed his lips against them and held them to his own chest. “I... love you.”

Louis' smile was blinding. “I love you, too,” he whispered and rolled them over, putting Harry on his back and hovering above him. He pressed their lips together and Harry opened his mouth easily, letting him in. 

Louis dropped his hips down against Harry’s, and Harry groaned into Louis' mouth and reached down to pull him closer. They found a rhythm and continued that way until Harry couldn’t take it anymore; pulled his mouth away from Louis' to take a breath. 

“Love,” said Louis again, and even though their bodies had mostly stilled, Harry moaned just the same. Harry _had_ to ask; the prospect was driving him crazy.

“D’you mean,” started Harry nonsensically, collecting his brain which was still mostly focused on where his cock was flushed and needy between his legs. “Is that, like, another name — are you calling me —”

Louis leaned down and slotted their lips together again, rocking their bodies together once more before pulling back. “Yes,” he breathed, and Harry’s stomach swooped. “That okay? I could stick with, like, string bean —”

“No, you idiot,” giggled Harry breathlessly, gently knocking Louis on the side of the head. “I like it. It’s wonderful.” They got caught up staring at each other again, and Harry had to remind himself to breathe. “You’re mine, too, by the way,” he added. “Love, I mean. My love. Lou. Love.” 

“Yeah,” whispered Louis, tenderness written across his features. 

“I still like the foods though,” said Harry before their mouths met again. Louis laughed against Harry’s lips, and pulled back before they could make any headway. 

“Oh, I’ll keep those up,” said Louis, and Harry could _see_ the twinkle in his eye. “How could I give up calling you my string bean, my sweet potato...” Harry giggled. “Apricot... plum... banana bread with chocolate chips and toasted walnuts —” 

Harry laughed, far too loud for a quiet house at night, and in his haste to cover his own mouth he accidentally knocked their bodies together again. They moaned in unison and spent most of the night that way, shivering and giggling as their bodies moved together, the friction between them and their laughter both equal manifestations of their love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🥰💖🥰
> 
> talk to me about cute pet name recovery strategies in the comments 😞
> 
> [fic post](https://jishlerfics.tumblr.com/post/642756421560270848/before-the-advancement-most-human-lives-and)


	3. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One month later.

On a rare afternoon off from working at the bookshop, Louis was poking around in the diverse piles of knick knacks and paraphernalia that Poppy and Marie had accumulated over the years when Harry came home from school. 

“Peaches!” he bellowed into the otherwise empty house. “I’m in the attic.” 

Harry appeared presently at the top of the attic stairs, and dropped a kiss to Louis' lips before he dumped his rucksack on the floor and plopped down beside Louis. 

(They’d learned the word _kiss_ recently; Jeremy had informed them of it after a particularly embarrassing encounter in which he accidentally discovered them in the midst of a particularly heated mouth-touching session. Harry and Louis both agreed that the moment of awkwardness was worth the new addition to their vocabulary.)

“Hi,” said Harry.

“Hi, peaches,” said Louis. It was one of the first names he’d called Harry, and he was pretty sure it was one of Harry’s favourites. “It’s crazy how much stuff is up here. I keep finding stuff they stole from that government archive, right next to old receipts for like, furniture.”

Harry snorted and scooted over to look at a pile of books, no doubt also amused by Louis taking the liberty of going through their housemates' stuff. _Friends_ , Louis corrected himself. They’d been there for a month; had already learned to pull up on the bathroom door to get it to latch and how often Marie craved sweets. They were friends now, all of them, and Louis could already feel the beginnings of a deeper affection — love — taking root in his heart for their older housemates. And Harry was fully immersed in the school year by now, entertaining them at the dinner table with stories about classmates or asking Jeremy for maths help. 

“How was school?” asked Louis.

“Eeh, fine,” answered Harry. “It’s so different now… Nothing like before. It’s like… my teacher teaches me calculus, but I feel like _I_ know more about, like, the world. You know?”

“Mmm,” said Louis. Harry had expressed this sentiment before, and Louis thought it made sense. “Gotta get your education for the revolution, though.”

“The revolution” was something they joked about; a fanciful uprising where Harry and Louis and all non-Drug-taking people would unite to eradicate The Drug and restructure society, prioritising love instead of economic growth. It was still mostly a joke, but Louis had a sneaking suspicion that it’d become more and more serious over time. 

They fell into silence, sneezing occasionally as they looked through the dusty piles. Suddenly, Harry gasped behind him. “Lou,” said Harry urgently. “Holy shit, look at this.”

Louis moved over to take the book Harry was holding out to him. It looked old and fragile, and it left yellow dust on Louis' hands as he opened it to the copyright page. “Woah,” breathed Louis. The publication year was 1974. “Harry, this book is over five hundred years old!”

“Oh my god, no,” groaned Harry. He snatched the book back and shut it, holding the cover up for Louis to read. “Look what it _is._ ”

Oh. _A PRACTICAL GUIDE TO GAY SEX,_ read the title. And the subheading, _Complete with no-frills illustrations and helpful tips for you and your partner!_

“Oh,” said Louis, out loud this time. The word _sex_ was a relatively recent addition to their vocabulary, courtesy of that classified document they’d read on their second night in their new home. Louis had never heard the word _gay_ before, but he was too caught up in the implications of this book existing in the first place to question the new terminology. What were they possibly yet to discover in the realm of sex that was so complicated it warranted a _guide_ _?_

They flipped through the book in jumpy anticipation, shocked but intrigued by the line drawings that showed hands, cocks, mouths. “We’ve done that,” whispered Harry. Louis shivered as he turned the page. “That, too.”

Louis turned to the next page expecting more of the same, but instead — _what_. The text said something about careful cleaning and lubrication but the illustration was — _what?_

“What,” said Harry, perfectly articulating Louis' thoughts. He slammed the book shut and looked at Louis in horror. They stared at each other as the idea began to percolate. Harry was the first to break their eye contact, looking warily back at the book. Tentatively, Louis reached over and opened it again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that's that on anal sex.  
> THANK YOU, so much, for reading. I hope with all my heart that you enjoyed 💖  
> This fic is basically a fanfic of a fanfic, so again, if you haven't read the masterpiece that is [Our Lives, Non-Fiction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27884215/chapters/68276938), I highly recommend you do so. ✨
> 
> Comments make my WEEK so tell me what you liked! What you did hated! Which pet name was your favorite! Your favorite lines!!! 
> 
> And, if it suits your fancy: reblog the fic post on [tumblr](https://jishlerfics.tumblr.com/post/642756421560270848/before-the-advancement-most-human-lives-and)! Or just come [talk with me](https://snowjosh.tumblr.com/) about allll my feelings and headcanons about this fic <333


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